Ready To Drop
by Fingirl
Summary: Being the Quartermaster of MI6 is no easy task. Series of one-shots and drabbles about a very sleep deprived Q.
1. I

Q heard the footsteps long before the man had even reached him. He had learned to distinguish them, hearing the pattern from the stream of thuds in the branch. Every last second is used wisely before he turns on his heel to greet the man behind him, "007, did you come here to return your equipment?" Both of them know the answer, Bond not bothering to look guilty anymore and Q not bothering to attempt a smile when he asks.

"There was an incident." Bond replied, radiating with calm and not looking sorry at all.

Q sighed and rolled his eyes, "Of course there was." It was only his second year as the head of the Q-Branch, but he had already stopped to scold Bond about his equipment. Exeptions were rare, perhaps he managed to lecture the agent after one of the better slept nights, but even that wasn't a guarantee anymore.

Bond knew it was his queue to leave, but he didn't budge. Instead he stood there with his hands in his pocket and eyes focused on Q's slender fingers that typed rapidly. He had no idea what was Q was typing, not even after glancing at the file that was displayed on the screen up front. The typing was so rythmical, almost like a lullaby. It let his mind slide away from the present to some place far away, the name lost in the loops on his thoughts.

Seconds turned into minutes and eventually, half an hour later, Bond realised he was still standing there behind Q. The man hadn't acknowledged him in away, but apparently shifted to another file. Bond left him standing there without a goodbye. He thought it better not to disturb the quartermaster. However Q's fingers slowed on the keys as he counted the departing agent's footsteps.


	2. II

_**II**_

Time was a concept that became hazy to the Quartermaster when he left his desk. He had no idea if it was before or past midnight when he made it to his flat, but the alarm was set for 07:23 and that was all he needed to know.

Q set his bag down and hung his coat up. The rest of his clothes fell to a heap at his feet as he brushed his teeth whilst undressing. He let out a grunt; picked them up and shoved them carelessly into the already full laundry basket. One more day 'til the weekend he thought, sinking into the comfort of his cool bed with one last relieved sigh.

It would all start again tomorrow, but for now he could rest, even if only for a few short hours.


	3. III

_**III**_

It's the mornings that want to make him call it quits and move to the Bahamas. And yet he gets out of bed evey morning, silencing the three alarm clocks that are scattered in the room on his way to the bathroom. He takes his showers cold, because the warm ones are too comfortable and he's fallen asleep under the hot spray one too many times. It's the reason his nose is runny for the better part of the year.

The glance he throws his bed is longing like he has to leave a lover for good. Q is well aware of the trace of warmth that still lingers in the carelessly crumpled sheets, but he has work to do and so he pushes away his own needs.

He is greatful that it's the end of summer when the sun still makes an attempt to rise at a time when he can see it. Q stands by the window, fingers curled around his cup of Earl Grey. The golden orb that sustains life on earth peaks shyly over the skyline, casting enough light to bathe everything that it can reach in shades of orange and purple. Q presses his forhead against the cool window. This is his peace, the few minutes he has in the mornings when he inhales the scent of his favorite beverage and lets the liquid warmth in his stomach lull him into the feeling of comfort.


	4. IV

_**IV**_

Q felt the heavy weight of the thirty hour shift press on him. He had sworn to kill Bond many times by now, because the man was not capable of doing even the simplest task like walk down a hallway without making something explode. It was the exact reason why Q would never build him an exploding pen. God knows what might happen.

"Take the next turn to the left Bond" he instructed, "and this time try to turn to the correct left.". Q let the comments from the agent slide by unnoted. His eyes were focused on the red dot on the map and keeping it there.

R left her own coffee cup on the edge of his desk with a look of pity when Q and Bond once again got into an argument. Q guzzled the caffeine rich drink, grateful for his employee's thoughtfulness. He didn't like the bitter taste of coffee opposed to his sweet Earl Grey, but now was not the time to make a fuss. He hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, which was a good ten hours ago. It made the liquid rumble uncomfortably in his stomach.

His thoughts were drawn back to the mission, "The door is locked. Can you open it or do I need to blow it up?"

"I will do my best, give me a minute." Q tapped a few keys and shifted to another file, "Better make that three and I'll have disabled all alarms."

Bond huffed, "I don't have three minutes."

It was an unspoken warning that he would blow the door. Q started to babble and curse, threatening to decapitate the man if he didn't manage to blow his own head off before Q could get a hold on him while he pulled every last ounce of strength and worked at full speed. At two minutes and twenty-three seconds he was just one command away from shutting down the security system. His hands froze on the key as the explosion rang in his ears.

"Bond!"


End file.
